


Dear Juliet

by mercredigirl



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Textual Interpretation, Feminist Themes, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-22
Updated: 2010-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-12 02:30:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercredigirl/pseuds/mercredigirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the film <i>Letters to Juliet</i>: here is one such letter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Juliet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kairia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kairia/gifts).



Dearest Juliet Capulet,

I wish I knew you better.

I know the story. Who doesn't?

To be married at fourteen, and dead the same year, upsetting your mother because you left no heir. We know this tale, know it well.

But the problem is simply that it isn't _yours_.

What did you feel, at that fateful party, when you first set eyes on the Montague boy? Was it lust that compelled you to act, the long-suppressed long-scorned heat of being a woman? Was it desperation, fear of being sold to Paris a pretty, virgin bride? Or envy – at his freedom, at the love his parents bore him, at his sufficient personhood in the eyes of God and the law?

What did you feel, to have abandoned your home thus? How little did it mean to you – was it truly a nest of terror and abuse, was it a house of thralls or of charnel or of an unbearable heaviness of being?

Did the priest mean you well, did the nurse mean you well? Was it help, what they gave you, or just another route into gaol and hell?

Did you go gladly to your wedding night, or did you dread it? Did you accept it, resign yourself to it, sign over your inheritance with your blood for ink, your body the marriage contract?

…for heaven's sake. I, too, have fallen into the trap.

I am asking the wrong questions, forgive me.

Did you, do you, what did you feel – why must we speak of the Montague boy! I shall not name him. I will not name him. I do not know what he did to you, to wreck you, my beautiful precious child; but I know that that is for you to tell or withhold at your choosing.

Let us start afresh.

My child – my daughter, my sister – my lovely Juliet – have you tasted sorbet? Have you held swans folded of paper and silk? Have you watched the dervishes whirl in prayer? What colours did you live, what songs did you sing, what wishes did you offer up?

What dreams, in short, were yours, though you were lost to the world at fourteen?

That is all I want to know, dearest. And that is what I shall never know.

Take care.

Yours, &c., with love.


End file.
